


Displaced.

by Rabbit



Category: Dragaera -- Steven Brust
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 22:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/142390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rabbit/pseuds/Rabbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>takes place during Phoenix, just before Morrolan and Aleria go rescue Vlad. Again. I apologise deeply for the brevity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Displaced.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [barronblack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/barronblack/gifts).



“Sargent. SARGENT!”

“Hm?”

“...Nevermind.” 

“Of course.” 

At this point, Morrolan e’Drien had gone back to contemplating his great destiny and awaiting his marching orders about his campfire, while his commander stared directly at him, watching him silently for some time before turning on his heel and returning to the command tent. 

This commander’s name was Kragar, and if he was descended from anyone of importance, it had left no mark upon him, none at all. 

***

The matter at hand was serious enough that no one on the Dragon Council needed to speak of it, nor would they have, except for the outrage that seemingly unfolded further before them. 

“It’s bad enough,” one of them growled to the youngish soldier who had been brought in to give his report, “that the man deserts during the heat of battle, but then he fails to show up to speak for himself either! How...”

“I didn’t desert.” 

The chamber stuttered into a sudden and complete silence as they realised that there was, indeed, a man standing in the place reserved for the accused, that the man was, indeed, a Dragonlord in the full regalia of a commander, and that it was entirely possible he had been there the whole time. If any of the Dragon Council experienced embarrassment upon making this observation, it manifested in most of their expressions as anger. If any of them followed this realisation to its startlingly logical and even more embarrassing conclusion, these alone did not show anger-- nor, to be fair, embarrassment-- but remained inscrutable. 

Among these latter were an extremely pale and severe woman in black, seated near the middle of the table, and the soldier who had been addressed before. The soldier was considered something of a hero in the last several wars to secure the throne of the Phoenix empress, and it will surprise no one at all that his name was Morrolan e’Drien.

If one is at all familiar with Dragons, it will surprise one not at all that the Council immediately decided to expel the offensively non-descript lord from the House of the Dragon. While they could not convict him of the crimes of desertion or cowardice, he was clearly guilty of sheer non-entity. This was more than enough for all concerned. 

As for the non-entity himself, he took it, plussed, and it may be said to his credit that he left the council chamber every bit as much as he was expelled from it. As he left, he locked eyes with the Lord e’Drien, very cool grey meeting very cool black, the black looking through him nearly. For the first time in the entire proceeding, the now-former Dragon of no particular lineage seemed to visibly tense. His brow furrowed as he walked past, his back turned on Morrolan. 

At this moment, Morrolan tensed as well, but not particularly visibly to anyone present, save perhaps the pale woman in black, known broadly as Sethra Lavode.

“Kragar.” Morrolan heard himself saying, and the tensed back tensed further as it stopped, and turned slowly back, “ _What will you do now?”_

Kragar said nothing for several long moments, and then he shrugged, and completed his leavetaking.

When Morrolan discovered, some few hundred years later, that this same Kragar had joined the Jhereg, he thought that it had been a very good decision for him. Morrolan, for all of the steel in his Dragon’s spine, appreciated a man who put himself where he could be of best use. 

***   
  
_Would you please be so kind, Kragar, as to teleport to Castle Black at once?_   
  
  
_I'm in your greatroom, Lord Morrolan._   
  
If the telepathic communication was a little sardonic around the word 'Lord', it will hopefully be forgiven.  Morrolan, at the very least, did not seem insulted, which was very lucky for Kragar, or for himself, either one.  He instead replied,   
  
_If you will come to my study then._   
  
  
_Sure._   


Kragar did not feel the need to inquire as to why Morrolan wished to speak to him, or on what topic. The answer was plain enough, as there was only one topic on which-- by mutual agreement-- they had anything to discuss. Morrolan's Easterner chief of security was also Kragar's Jhereg boss, and probably the best damn assassin in Dragaera, next to Mario Graymist. His boss wouldn't think so, or at least wouldn't say so, but Kragar was yet Dragon enough to be plain about such matters.

The trouble was another one of the best assassins in the Empire, and the fact that she didn't wish to be an assassin anymore.  It was entirely possible, as well, that she was no longer entirely all right with her husband being an assassin either. Or doing any of the work that he did, whether or not it was "work," as they put it. Since a good part of his work involved working for Morrolan or telling Kragar what to do, they had a certain interest in the matter. Nonetheless, it was not precisely like Morrolan to want to involve himself directly, though he had been recently inclined to contact Kragar telepathically when he was concerned about Vlad. And Kragar hadn’t been shy about calling on Morrolan to get Vlad out of a spot. Or into one, considering how Vlad and the current source of his troubles had met.

Kragar arrived in Morrolan's study to no fanfare whatever. The Lady Teldra never greeted him whenever he appeared at Morrolan's house-- not that he did so very often. That he was here now, at Morrolan's perpetual party, was something of an anomaly. But the reason was not unlike the reason that Morrolan would be calling him now. He was worried, and about Vlad. When he was worried about Vlad, it usually meant that Morrolan, and probably also his cousin Aleria, would have to go haring off somewhere to do something about it. It would be better, Kragar thought, to prepare in advance. Besides, Melestav would cover things for a little while at least.  

Kragar thought of these things while he stood just inside the door to Morrolan's study, watching the Dragonlord read. Finally, he cleared his throat just at the moment that the book in Morrolan's lap snapped shut.

"Kragar."

"Lord Morrolan."

Kragar did not bow, and Morrolan did not stand. They looked at each other instead, Kragar placid; Morrolan inquisitive. Finally, the still-Dragonlord spoke.

"You have not been able to reach Lord Taltos telepathically either, for some days now."

"That's right."

"You know where he's gone."

"I've got an idea."

"Hm." Morrolan stood up. "Where?"

Kragar almost said, then closed his mouth. This was, after all, why he'd come-- so that Morrolan would do just what he was about to do. But-- suddenly, it galled, just a bit. He saw a young and cocky soldier staring right through him as he tried to lead him and others into battle, and he saw the young and cocky officer winning, over and over, every time. And it was... unpleasant, in a way that few things were these days. Morrolan watched him with thinning patience, and he shrugged. 

"He was asking about a place out of the Empire. Greenaere, island. few days now." He didn't need to say, _I'm getting worried._ So was Morrolan. You could see it. 

Kragar  wondered what that was like, being seen like that. 

"Thank you, Kragar."

This was dismissal. Morrolan turned away from him. Kragar didn't go. Morrolan turned back, and smiled slightly to himself, apparently convinced that Kragar was no longer there. He returned to his chair and his book, his expression distracted, as if he were communicating telepathically with someone, or trying to. Sethra Lavode or Aleria probably, Kragar guessed, willing himself to leave, finally. It didn't work.

Instead he stood behind Morrolan's chair, wondering how much of the book he could read over the Dragonlord's shoulder before he noticed, and deciding it didn't matter. If one was going to use one's natural disadvantages-- well, disadvantages to a Dragon, anyway-- to one's advantage, one should go big or go home. So he put a hand, nails first, on the skin of Morrolan's neck, above his collar, and poised the other one for the next logical thing, which came as Morrolan blinked up at him suddenly.

"Oh... you are still here?"

The Dragonlord didn't get a chance to say anything else, for his Great Weapon was not on him at that moment, and Kragar's ready hand had got him by his hair, and perhaps surprisingly-- perhaps not-- his mouth was on top of Morrolan's mouth, crushing it hard. It was a curious question, which one of the two was stronger, though any Dragon would have put their money on Morrolan, of course, out of necessity and honor. They would have lost the bet, which goes to show why the Jhereg are the ones that run all the gambling. Morrolan found himself trapped, And his black eyes went furious as he tried to push the Jhereg off of him, and to no avail.

_I will have you know, Kragar, that I will kill you directly if you continue this._

_Noted._

The response, in its dryness, its fatalism, and its utter sincerity startled Morrolan profoundly enough that his mouth opened too beneath Kragar's, and he realized, quite suddenly, that there are battles and there are battles. And in order to win one... well.

_I see that there is yet some Dragon in you, Kragar._

_Not yet. But there will be._

_Is that an order?_ Morrolan raised an eyebrow, which is sort of strange and awkward when one is having one's body ground into an armchair.

Kragar didn't answer him in words, telepathically or otherwise.


End file.
